


With Bated Breath

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Because this is Underfell, Bondage, Codependency, Coping, Depressed Papyrus, Developing fellcest, Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Dry Humping, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), F/M, Femdom, Light Sadism, M/M, Masochism, Multi, Polyamory, Sans is pleasantly surprised, Soriel, Toriel and Papyrus are into some kinky shit, life on the surface, this is mostly self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The barrier was destroyed. But Papyrus wasn't happy enough.Undyne has Alphys, Toriel has Frisk, and Papyrus has Sans; it should be that simple.Sans is worth more than gold to him, but since moving to the surface, he's slipping further and further away, and it is becoming clear that Papyrus is fighting a losing battle.It isn't fair, she already has Frisk, and now she wants Sans too?She can't take Sans away from him. Shecan't....But maybe they can share him instead.





	

_‘WHAT IS ALL THAT DAMN RACKET?’_

Papyrus groggily slid his eye sockets open, at first to blink away his snooze, and next to nurse his awful, ringing headache. His joints were refusing the commands from his head—with his arms slugging next to his sides and laying despondent, and his leg stapled to bed as if they were as heavy as lead. He was feeling pissed off and crabby, and the noise outside his window was pounding and reverberating in his skull. 

His first inclination was to scold Sans—because who else would be making such a ruckus at an early hour? —from his bedroom, hoping the sound would reach down the hall into his brother’s doorway, but with further inspection, his eye sockets bulged open in child-like humor at the streams of gold filtering through his drapes. The sun was nearly exploding in his room, casting light on nearly every dark, possible crevice and corner. He sprung up and rubbed at his eye sockets in an attempt to fan away the fuzzy sparkles of yellow dotting his vision. But through his fists, the deluge of gold weaved and flowed between the spaces of his phalanges like a river. 

With a groan of defeat, Papyrus swung his legs over the edge of his bed and craned up from his mattress, joints cracking. He sauntered his way to his bedroom window, but stopped before he could fully pull open the drapes.

Like the flick of a switch, a brief flash of fear jolted through his bones, crawling like a spider along his vertebrate and spreading down to his toes. He was overcome with a foggy sense of dread and suspicion, feinting for something to come out and strike him from his bedroom window; it was conditioned into him—more like beaten and battered into his skull—to always expect an awaiting attack—a lifetime of tip-toeing and sneaking around any possible dangers or assailants still held fresh in his mind, like an instinctive response. His phalanges trembled along the edges of the windowsill; the sunlight was nearly blinding him, and a thought passed through his mind of someone using the bright rays of the sun as an advantage to disable and disorient him and attack him from the front. 

With practiced clarity, Papyrus constructed a magic bone in the palm of his carpels, sharpened and poised to defend himself. His left arm slowly extended to the front of his drapes, and a slight coating of sweat adheres to his bones, sending shivers of coolness down his spine like dew clinging to grass. This only seemed to heighten his sensitivity, but with reverence, Papyrus snatched open the drapes, and shielded his eyes from the oncoming flash of sunbeams. 

Once the light was let in, he removed his shading arm from his eye sockets to digest the beauty of the surface. 

Only woodpeckers were there to greet him, perched on multiple branches, and bulldozing their way through the maple tree in front of his window in all they could sacrifice. 

Papyrus sighed heavily, but the breath that exhausts from his chest comes out shaking and he stares down at the carpet. His phalanges were quivering at his sides, and his palm was still wrapped tight at the bone construct; it takes him a few more seconds before he can finally allow his magic to dissipate, and his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. His head lethargically rolled towards the window and his eye sockets scanned the yard, as if still expecting some kind of attack.  
But he was met with none.

There were colors everywhere, splotches of pink, dips of whites, chunks of green, and a vault of blue and yellow, stretching into vast plains and swirling riches; flowers and plumage sweep for miles and miles, further than Papyrus’ keen eyesight can follow. Standing from his bedroom window, he couldn’t help but feel entirely _out of place_ ; a creature born from hatred and shadow, gazing upon the Surface’s majesty in wonder, amidst the fragility of nature blossoming right in front of his eye sockets. Its stunning for Papyrus to believe, that not so long ago, the dream of surface life was just that, a daydream, one that he and Sans would soliloquize to each other in secret under the wishing stars in Waterfall. He tried not to think about dark, shadowy caverns with ever-reaching walls enclosing him like a rat in a cage, or of grass so thick and tall it could suffocate him, or of echo flowers that whispered wails and dying breaths, or of dust swirling in the air and filtering into the crevices of his bones and staining his armor, or of blood splattered like paint on heavy, white snow, or…

He is here now. 

Above the underground. 

Alive.  
_____________________________________

The barrier was destroyed.

The fabled monsters from the underground emerged from Mt. Ebbot like demons from hell—red-eyed, fanged, vicious, and aggressive, and their king, Asgore Dreemurr, reigned above them like the horned Satan himself. But what was more surreal and staggering to comprehend was the small, human child walking beside them all, like they were _one of them_ —the setting sun casted ringlets of light around the child, haloing almost like a silhouette of a holy angel’s wings—a tender, fragile hand unflinchingly clasped in the sharpened paw of a much larger, female horned monster. 

With freedom came apprehension from humans and monsters alike. Shortly after their ascent from the underground, monsters veered into small vicinities and camps along the edge of the mountain to avoid most human interaction. It was uncharacteristically decided by their ruler Asgore for monsters to relinquish their “kill or be killed” philosophy and protract the qualms of war to appease in good graces to the humans. With great doubt and fear still lingering in their souls, the monsters obeyed. The Royal Guard disbanded, the repented Queen Toriel took precautions to become politically stable with humans, and the small human child became an ambassador of sorts, encouraging and uplifting the lives of monsters with their naiveté of kindness, forgiveness, and most importantly, mercy. The small child’s wares of mercy and determination allured and captured the hearts and souls of everyone; the child even managed to persuade humans to dispatch hostilities against the reforming monster race. Slowly, monster inclusion trickled into quaint towns, and eventually bridged into heavily populated cities. 

In nearly three years, commotion of the monster settlement was an afterthought, and life on the surface languidly passed by.  
_______________________________________

“UN. BELIVABLE! HOW LONG HAVE WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER UNDYNE? SURELY YOU KNOW BY NOW THAT I AM TOO GREAT TO BECOME DISCOURAGED! I CAN DO ANYTHING THAT I SET MY MIND TO,” Papyrus puffed out his chest, and he prayed that Undyne would not notice how his voice wavered in tension and uncertainty. 

After a few hours of the barrier destroyed, Papyrus and Undyne patrolled the small population of monsters straggling along the edges of Mt. Ebbot, and they had a few moments of alone time for each other. 

He was scared and she was scared, but neither were ready to admit it to each other. 

“Keh, yeah right,” Undyne twisted her head away and spat in trepidation, but when she turned to face Papyrus again, her expression was warm and voice strangely quiet, “…but seriously Papyrus, look at what we did, look at where we are now, and who we are now.”

Undyne tilted her head to up to the never-ending sky, like those heroes in her favorite anime cartoons did, facing the sky after the tedious battle had been won; her red hair fluttered in wisps against the wind like fire, and Papyrus couldn’t help but stare at her in admiration. 

Undyne was just too cool. 

She breathed in the fresh air and soaked in the coolness of the breeze. The air up here was nothing like the fetid, stifling fog that casted heavy and damp in the swamps of Waterfall. It was crisp, clean, and it ruffled along her gills pleasantly. 

She closed her eye, sucked in a breath, and held it for a second before breathing out a hearty sigh, “Things are going to be different, Pap,” Undyne nodded in clarity, “Real different.” 

Despite what her subordinates sneered and gossiped about behind her back, despite what everyone said back in the Underground, Undyne was more than a headstrong boulder, barreling down the hill of life and crushing those standing in the way of her wake; she was wise beyond her years. And in her wisdom, her determined personality shined brighter than any of the luminescent rocks ceiling in the caverns of the underground. 

Here she was, listless and without protocol. 

Papyrus wanted to drink up her wisdom and her resource of determination and make it his own.

“We’re going to change, and make a change for the better.” Her voice was tight, and Papyrus cringed slightly away from her sudden intensity—he wasn’t used to this Undyne, but it was Undyne nonetheless—the real Undyne, not the stoic, aloof persona she created to spurn away her enemies. She didn’t exhibit a “callously cold” glare or snap her jagged fangs in antagonism, and Papyrus just knew that this…

…This was Undyne in all her entirety. 

Undyne’s eye glossed over, stinging wet with unshed tears. 

But the tears didn’t fall. 

“I want to see Alphys do good things,” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “I want to see her create something worthwhile, and sculpt something better than herself. And now…,” Undyne let out a low, but happy-sounding chuckle and her head dropped down toward the grassy earth, “…Now I can be there and see it first-hand… I can be there for her, and support her, and tell her that she’s doing a good job…and love her for it.” 

Her eye was still downcast, avoiding Papyrus’ line of sight, but Papyrus could see and feel her fervor through the pulse of her soul. 

“Heh, Papyrus…you would be surprised to know, that I can finally breathe, and look at my own reflection without shame.”

Her tone suddenly shifted to an angrier, rougher baritone, “I did some awful stuff to monsters. I’m supposed to be their hero, but I couldn’t even protect the underground from itself. From what we were. I was supposed to bring our people together and--“ 

Papyrus was silent.

“…And I failed.”

Papyrus really wasn’t used to this Undyne, but when he pressed a gloved hand onto her shoulder to console her, it felt natural. She didn’t try to pull away.  
Undyne shook her head, hair falling over her face, her single good eye brimming with a thousand emotions she wanted to spill out, “Heh, c’mon Undyne snap out of it!”

She roughly pulled Papyrus under her armpits and gave him a noogie, knuckles painfully digging deep on his cranium. 

“UGH, UNDYNE PLEASE DON’T NOOGIE ME!” Perhaps with a little too much force than he meant, Papyrus tore away from her arm wrapped tight around his clavicles. 

“Fuhuhu—c’mon Papyrus, enough with all this mushy shit,” she bellowed.

Papyrus growled at her in annoyance, but she could only laugh and smile big at him. 

“Even though we are above the underground and the Royal Guard disbanded, I still expect to see you waiting like a bone-head outside my house, bright and early and eager for your next training regime. Is that understood?”

“UNDYNE, YOU’RE NOT CAPTAIN ANYMORE, YOU CAN’T BOSS ME AROUND— “

“—I SAID is that understood?” Her words were stern, but her voice was excited. 

“CRYSTAL CLEAR,” Papyrus quickly agreed, but content nonetheless. 

It was good to know that their companionship meant as much to her as it did to him. 

“I knew you would agree with me, Pap.”

Undyne stared longingly at the setting sun and Papyrus stared along with her, her voice was soft, “…I still want to keep doing things together with you. We can cook, and spare, and do whatever funny shit we can think of. The world is our oyster, Papyrus! Hey, maybe we can finally take that vacation you talked to Frisk about over the phone!” Undyne playfully nudged at his ribs with her elbow. 

“And I want to see you change too, Pap. 

She brought down a deliberate hand onto his shoulder and looked at him straight in the eye sockets with pride, “I want to be there when you do a good job.” 

Papyrus could not hide the gleam of elation that spread through his bones. 

He stood at her side—not as a subordinate, or as an admirer—but as an equal.  
______________________________________  
Papyrus wasn’t happy. 

…But he wasn’t unhappy. 

He felt…tired, more than anything. And the feeling terrified him. 

He was the Great and Terrible Papyrus after all, when did he ever get tired?

Although he would never admit it out loud to his brother, or Undyne, and especially never to himself—the underground was familiar, and life below Mt. Ebbot made sense. 

When it was just Sans and him against all the elements. Surviving and surviving strong like nothing could touch them. 

Papyrus had Sans, and Sans had Papyrus. It had always been that way. Always. 

And besides the puzzles, and the cooking lessons, and aspirations of joining the Royal Guard, that was all that he knew, the only world he lived on. And in his world, Sans would always be there with him. 

He clung to that, and cherished that, and grasped that close to his soul. 

Sans is worth more than gold to him, but since they’ve risen above ground, it seems… everyday it seems that he’s slipping away from Papyrus, and he continues to reach and reach, but it is becoming clear that he is fighting a losing battle. 

Days above the underground bled into weeks, and then into months. 

He just…wasn’t happy enough.  
___________________________________

It’s bad for Papyrus to think, because once he has enough silence and time to sit down and think, he starts thinking way too much and he finds himself unable to stop thinking. He thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks about life, and every little second he’s spent living it. He starts to peek into those little crevices in himself, those little cracks that no one else can see—what no one else is meant to see—but when he looks inside, he sees nothing. 

It hits him, hard and unforgiving, that there is nothing. 

No resolution.

But everyone else outside his world believes he is ok. They think that he’s perfectly normal; perfectly Papyrus. 

He is actually caught up in everyone else’s happiness, lost in this frivolous cycle of copying their prosperity, desperately wishing that some of their high spirits would rub off on him. 

He is smiling enough, his voice is robust enough, and his aura is effervescent enough to really persuade them that he is ok. 

The only reason he fits in is because he has no other identity.

He really doesn’t want people to worry about him. Least of all Sans…how could he do something so cruel to his only brother! 

But when he’s been living for a dream that shattered like glass before him, what is he living for now? 

_What is he working towards!?_

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?” Said the human man with a paunchy belly and squinty eyes on television one morning.

Can we make it thirty, Mister Commercial Guy?  
__________________________________

Toriel often invited Sans and Papyrus to her home whenever she felt nostalgic. 

Frisk never minded, they were always excited to renew the shenanigans they shared in the Underground with the skeleton brothers, and it felt nice to have them around after a long period of separation due to conflicting schedules, interviews, and monster-human relations meetings. 

Frisk set up board games and puzzles a plenty for Papyrus’ enjoyment; Monopoly was their least favorite game to play with Papyrus and Sans however, because Papyrus was just so invested in it, and his dedication to win would stretch far into the late hours of night. Sans was not much of a dedicated player; he would allow Papyrus and Frisk to buy all his property when asked, and he fell asleep one hour into the game much to Papyrus’ annoyance. The night played out in a similar fashion, Frisk would recommend a new game, Papyrus joined and played enthusiastically, and Sans promptly fell asleep partially halfway through each game.

Frisk tuckered out around 11; Toriel let them stay awake an extra hour past bedtime for the special occasion, and Papyrus swept them up in his arms to their bedroom. 

With Frisk softly snoring away, Papyrus obligated himself to stay awake and stand guard of their sleeping form for the rest of the night. It was nearly twenty minutes later when he passed out himself, his head thrown back on the edge of Frisk’s bed, body sagging against the foundation. Sans snickered to himself and slipped off a plush blanket from their pillow fort they built together earlier and wrapped it around Papyrus’ frame. 

Sans ventured back to the living room, hands in his hoodie pockets as he fished for his cell phone to play around with in the meantime. Frisk downloaded some cool, new apps that he might enjoy so he figured he’d give them a try. He’d let Papyrus rest for a while, given that his brother’s internal clock had him awake bright and early at four almost every morning. A nap should be good for him. 

He found Toriel sitting at the dining room table, bottle of red wine in one hand and two crystal glasses in the other. 

“Would you care to join me, Sans?” Toriel asked hesitantly. 

Sans chuckled, “heh, sure ‘wine’ not?”  
________________________________________

It was a night of self-indulgence.

He was easy to talk to, and she was easy to share things with, and everything felt more natural between them then it had when they would joke against the door of the Ruins.  
They were having fun together; their bodies scooting closer and closer every time she laughed like a hyena on helium, and he could feel his soul getting weaker after every sip. She playfully smacked at his shoulders whenever he made a crude joke and he nudged at her side and tightened his jaw to fight his cackles when she got silly. 

“Oh my Sans, I had no idea you could be…well, so charming!” Toriel rubbed away the tears that formed in her eyes from her laughter, and she smoothed her paws over her forehead to wipe away the sweat forming there. And after four rounds of drinks, she blamed it on the wine and alcohol that made her feel hotter and looser. 

“what tori, ya think i’m not capable enough to be charming?” Sans mocked at her and chugged down more of his drink and looked at her ruby irises that was stained with inebriation. “i had no idea that you’d be such a hilarious drunk. ya know what they say, when wine goes in, wisdom comes out.” He winked. 

“Oh my, Sans!” Toriel threw her head back and guffawed. She shook her head amusement and leaned in close to his body, “Well what can I say, I make some very ‘pour’ decisions!” She giggled into her hand and her voice slithered over her words.

“damn tori, are we on fire tonight or what?” Sans comically shook his head at her slurs, and Toriel took another swig of her drink, at this point the alcohol had dulled her senses and her brain. 

She leaned back in her seat, eyes half-lidded, and a let out a relaxed sigh. The air in the room fizzled from her drunken haze, but she puckered her lips on the rim of her glass nonetheless and took another sparse sip from her drink, “Mmm.”

She really was enjoying his company; they haven’t spent much time together since their emergence from the Underground, and the closest to a personal conversation they had months ago veered off into pleasantries, “Hello, how have you been since the barrier was destroyed?” 

Toriel hummed low in her throat, “Let’s ‘wine’ down a bit.”

“heh heh, good one.”

“No, no, I am serious now. I am having a good time tonight, but I feel as though I owe you an apology.” She rumbled sadly, and her expression sunk down into quiet contemplation. 

“I have not had time for anything other than my child and my work since we moved to the surface. I know we have not been spending as much time together as we would we like.” Her eyes glossed over and her face heated up crimson in a blush, “But tonight…this has been nice.” 

Sans was left to blink and he ruminated on how the friction in the atmosphere flared up between them, and how Toriel’s magic laid heavy in the air. She appeared to be positively glowing.

He quickly wiped the back of his hand along a cheek bone…

Goddamn, those were glowing too. 

Toriel leaned over in her seat to brush her fingers curiously over his ulna that he exposed by rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie when the temperature in his bones spiked. 

Sans stared at her and turned his head away bashfully, heat stinging at his skull—he couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the fact that she was touching him. 

Sans reached behind his skull to rub at the back of it sheepishly, “it’s ok tori, family and work are important y’know.”

Her hand was still resting over his wrist, and unthinkingly, Sans brushed a finger over her paw. 

His voice trembled, “ya don’t have to apologize to me.” 

She quickly snatched up his hand in her larger paw, completely engulfing his much smaller hand with her own. 

“But I feel as though I should. Our relationship means so much to me, and I have not been a very good friend to you as of late.” Her eyes stared down at their intertwined hands, blushing harder, she slowly released his phalanges. 

“…I am sorry,” Toriel wiped a paw at the nape of her neck, feeling the perspiration and fever that festered at her fur, slicking the sweat between her fingers. “This wine is making me forget social cues.” 

In a flash, she stood up as if she did something wrong and straightened her polo shirt, “This was nice, but it is getting rather late, and I am sure your brother has important duties he must attend to in the morning.”

She whispered when she meant to speak louder, “It was nice to see some familiar faces, it has been too long…I needed that.”

The lights in his eye sockets evaporated, and for a split second, Sans could not understand her shuffling, but the words still hurt the same, like a slap to the face. 

“it’s still early, tori. what’s the rush? He tried to mask the look of hurt on his face. 

He laughed, but his laughter shook from nerves, “pap and i got nothin’ to do tomorrow, so i’m free all night, heh.” 

Toriel stood her ground, but gazed at him forlornly. 

Sans took a deep breath and exhaled shakily before starting up again, “i get it y’know. all this shit with the humans and all these fuckin’ changes are hard to deal with. everybody is so different now.” Sans stared down at the hands in his lap—they still tingled with her magic where she touched him—thinking it would be easier to not look directly at her, for the fear of losing his cool resolve. 

“you’re different, i’m different, even papyrus is different. he’s been more… reclusive than normal, and heh, you know my bro, it really isn’t like him to be so quiet.”  
Toriel’s interest piqued, “Reclusive? He seemed fine to me this afternoon.”

“well, papyrus is really good at putting on a show for people. but i think tonight helped him a little bit.” 

Sans sighed, “you may not notice it, but i live with the guy, and i’m tellin’ ya, something’s not right.” 

His eye lights fanned over with worry and the smile at his skull grew tight and harder to keep upright, “he’s my only brother, so i worry about him. he’s not used to the way things are now, and can you blame him? his whole life he’s been fighting for me or himself but now he’s got nothin’ to fight for.” 

The words bubbled up like vomit, but the wine had his mind in a stupor and he couldn’t shut his mouth. Despite the philosophy of “kill or be killed” back in the underground that had him apprehensive and cautious of nearly every monster around him, Sans trusted Toriel, and he felt like he could talk and joke with her unconditionally, and she treated him so benevolently in the past.

However, he was not ready to share some of his insecurities with her, but all this damn alcohol was making it difficult to think. 

Sans glanced up from his lap, and was met with her patient but intense gaze seeping into his eye sockets. 

Oh, that didn’t help, that didn’t help at all. 

Sans’ hands shook in his lap and he tried hard to hold back the tears stinging and threatening to shed from the back of his eye sockets, “…’course he won’t talk to me about it. he’s too prideful for that, but…,” He struggled to keep his voice from quivering, “… i feel like i’m losing the most important thing in my life.” 

And with that the tears rolled over, streaming down his cheekbones in cool streaks along his over-heated bones. 

Toriel calmly moved to Sans’ side and rubbed at the back of his spine reassuringly. Sans stiffened for a moment and slowly leaned into her touch; his magic attracted to hers like a magnet. Her magic was radiating a calming, soothing aura that shook him to his core, warming his bones in a feeling of contentment. Hesitantly, Toriel coiled her arms around his frame, engulfing him, and Sans slowly followed suit, even though his much shorter arms could not wholly wrap around hers. He buried his face into her clothed chest, sniffling through his tears, but the warm pulse of her soul relaxed him.

Sans began to babble wetly into her bosom, “i just don’t know what to do about him, tori. he’s acting so different, and i’m scared for him. i don’t want to lose him, i don’t.”

Toriel comforted him the best way she knew how, she rested her head on the top of his skull and softly cooed shushes, and she slowly rocked him in her embrace. 

“I am certain that Papyrus is just going through a phase,” She muttered above his cranium. Her fur from her jaw tickled him, but it felt nice, “The best thing that you can do is to be there for him and support him whenever he needs it.” 

Sans sniffled his sorrows but pulled away from her cradle to scrub away his stray tears, embarrassingly. 

Toriel looked him up and down and smiled contently. Sans pulled down the sleeves of his hoodie and used the fabric to wipe away any remaining wetness before clearing his closed throat off-handedly, turning his skull to the side to hide his blush.

Toriel giggled. He need not to hide his feelings from her. 

…He was just so cute. 

Toriel’s expression softened, “You need not to worry about him, Sans. Papyrus will find his own way,” Toriel puffed out her chest in mock imitation, akin to the grandeur that Papyrus was prone to do, “He is the Great and Terrible Papyrus, is he not?” 

Sans let out a small snicker, but smiled her way, “yeah he is, the greatest of the greats.”

Toriel and Sans sat back down together in silence, but the air between them was thick with some kind of anticipation—an anticipation he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he had some idea to not deter from denial. 

“I have my insecurities too,” Toriel finally responded to break the tension in the atmosphere. Her mind was still a little out there from the alcohol, but she pushed through the haze. 

“The humans that I interact with at the schoolhouse and during political meetings give me hard looks whenever I am with my child.”

Her eyes hardened, “Of course I do not blame them for being wary, we are monsters after all, and to see a small child living with this… living with me… and calling me Mother,” Toriel’s voice grew wet with emotion. “I often find myself doubting, if I could possibly be a good mother to Frisk.” 

Sans cocked his head in confusion, but he was adamant to keep his voice consolable, “what do you mean, tori? you’re a great mom.”

“Sans, I mean, look at me.” Toriel gestured to all of herself. 

Sans really wasn’t great at pitying others—hell he was probably the most piteous monster out there—but he hated seeing Toriel so distraught and unbelieving of herself.  
Papyrus didn’t deserve that and neither did she.

Sans voice was quiet, but patient, “there’s nothing wrong with ya. frisk knows that and i know that, and that’s all that matters, right?” 

Toriel’s expression softened a bit, she smiled through her sorrow, and her voice was still laced with sadness, “I suppose you are right.”

Neither of them said anything for a few more moments, dragging out the staring game. Nervously, Toriel began to tidy up the table, putting the wine glasses in the sink and wiping down the tabletop with a damp cloth. Sans would shift his eyes at her whenever the heat of her body would come near him, causing his magic to flare up. It seemed like everything she did sent some sort of message through his bones; he was being allured by her. 

Oh god, he was so drunk. 

The temperature of the room seemed to explode out of the thermometer, charging the atmosphere with awkward, but adulterous torridity. 

Sans laughed ineptly at his expense, this _magnetism_ he had for her only spiked due to the alcohol, but somewhere between all these tingling sensations at his soul and groin, there was a part of him that knew his feelings for her did not just come out of the blue—it built up and up into more than just admiration since the Underground, growing and flourishing into a more…subtle attraction. 

Toriel was great. She was funny, kind, understanding, and slightly intimidating. 

But to be alone with her…that sounded a little too devious.

Toriel flashed a nervous smile, watching him watch her. After fleeing from New Home in anger at the King back in the Underground, Toriel repressed herself from desires and covets. The Ruins were so lonely before Sans knocked on her door one day, but she felt a need to cover up her infirmities in a form of self-proscription. However, she was a curious type, so by restricting herself and bottling up her natural curiosity for sexuality, it led her mind down a more perverse direction, full of flurry fantasies that she would close her thighs to. And Sans was just so patient and gentle with her.

Her already red muzzle blushed harder. Oh my, she was _so_ drunk. 

She wondered what sex with a skeleton would be like. 

Toriel leaned in and smirked at him, ruby irises flashing a hint of mischief and restrained longing. 

The sweat that clung to Sans’ bones slicked wetter. 

Toriel picked up the conversation that had been left on a cliffhanger, and her voice dripped with tantalizing allurement, “So, shall we continue this upstairs?”

The lights in his eye sockets disappeared, and his smile clenched tight in surprise. 

“heh, heh, _wow_ , we are so fuckin’ drunk right now.”

“Yes, we are very drunk, but I am willing if you are.” Toriel waggled an eyebrow in his direction, sending shivers of excitement that made him sweat harder and his bones rattle. 

“y-yeah, screw it.”

“Oh dear,” Toriel could not contain her bubble of laughter, “Really, Sans? Puns at a time like this?”  
____________________________________

“c-c’mon tori, touch me already, heh, throw me a bone here,” Sans whispered hastily.

Toriel’s paw inched up his shirt slowly, riding it up, loving along the bones of his rib cage, and causing his soul to flutter in his chest. 

“…no, no not there,” Sans whimpered, “you know where i want you t-t-to touch me.” 

Her sharpened claws snagged on the flimsy cloth of his t-shirt, threatening to slice right through the seams, and Sans held his breath in good anticipation, knees knocking together underneath her much larger frame that had him pinned down to the mattress. 

“yeah—d-d-do it already…rip it off, i don’t care.”

Toriel giggled to her side but tightened her grip on his wrists she held above his head with her other free paw. “My, my Sans,” she breathed mockingly. “You certainly are eager tonight,” She leaned down close to where his ear would be, and whispered in such intensity and heat that it shot straight to his groin, “But you are not the one in charge.” Her voice dripped with seduction that left him speechless.

He wasn’t quite sure how the circumstances escalated so quickly, but after the rounds and rounds of drinks clouding his mind, he didn’t object when Toriel threw him down onto her bed in her ravenous appetite. He could only twist and curl into the sheets when the shadow of her body over-casted him, and she had so much hunger in her red eyes, like a fox cornering a rabbit. 

She pressed a tender kiss to the top of his skull and his toes curled in his socks. Her claws continued to trail along his ribs like a spider’s leg, their cunning tips rising higher and higher instead of lower and lower where Sans absolutely needed them to be. 

Sans panted heavily and whined embarrassingly when she drew a line with a single fingertip along his neck bone. With just a little more pressure, she could have cleaved his neck right off the stump.

Sans breathed raggedly through his nasal cavity; there was just too much heat, and he couldn’t think through the haze, her magic was suffocating him. 

“You are just so fragile, Sans,” Her breath was hot as it fanned across his face, and her fingers playfully tugged his clavicles. Sans sucked in a shaky, regained breath when her fingers closed in a tight fist around his scrawny neck. He gasped and ran a fearful gaze up to her, the lights of his eye sockets dilated, searching and searching her eyes for her intentions. Her ruby eyes held his panicky gaze for a moment and she squeezed at his neck, suddenly making him feel faint, and he closed his eye sockets in fear. Although, when Sans tried to wring free from her imprisonment, her grip didn’t lock tighter, but loosened at his expense. 

“I could break you.”

Sans mewled, face reddening and heating up. 

“And what would you do, Sans?” She asked him, voice playful. 

His mouth opened and closed but no words ushered out. 

She growled when he did not answer right away, and she leaned down to lick at the side of his skull, the moisture and coolness of her tongue making him shiver in a fever-like daze. The trail of saliva she left in her wake clung to his skull. 

“Answer me, Sans,” She growled low, impatiently. “What would you do?” 

Sans hiccupped with renewed fervor and a tired grin spread across his mandible, “i-i-i would…,” he gulped, “i-i- would b-break. heh.”

“Hee hee, you are just too cute.” 

“heh, heh.” 

He was so flimsy under her touch. Crushable. Shatterable. So weak. So pathetic. 

She could break him, and he would break. It was as simple as that. 

But the revelation did nothing to stifle his arousal, in fact, it had him curling and arching into her touches and the heat fueled into spikes that sharpened at his pelvis. Toriel could dust him right now on her bed, trapped under her crushing weight, but it made him feel ecstatic, and filled him with elation that was foreign to him. 

Honestly, he felt goddamn giddy to know that the Queen of all Monsters was fawning over him, and her hands were stroking and rubbing all over him, and her eyes were attached to him, and he had enraptured all her time and attention. 

The Queen of all Monsters wanted _him_ —a one HP, pathetic, jokester of a monster—for all she could sacrifice. 

And it was so goddamn hot. 

Sans panted through his nasal cavity and the sweat that seeped from his bones drenched the sheets underneath him into a puddle. Her hand crawled up the road of his throat and Sans braced himself.

“tori, qui-quit teasin’ me.” 

“Hee hee, I’ll tease you if I want to.”

She hooked her thumb in the corner of the empty space between his sharpened teeth and jaw, and she roughly jerked his skull to the side with enough force that it could have snapped his neck so she could expose his vulnerable, heated bones to her liking. Sans grunted in pain and tears elevated in his sockets, but with a split gesture of bipolarity, she glided her tongue up his sensitive neck with loving affection. 

Toriel released her unflinching grip on his wrists; for Sans, they ached and burned pleasantly. 

He brought his wrists down to grasp at the sheets between his phalanges in a tight fist, he couldn’t stop his shaking or his tears. Her hands slammed down on either side of his frame and Sans squeaked in surprise. He shifted uncomfortably under her, unsure what to do with his freed hands. Toriel leaned down to lick up his tears to console him, but the saliva only clung to him, blinding him. She then kissed him on the front of his teeth, and his magic coalesced a tongue without his command. She released a growl and opened her mouth against his teeth to give a quick lick, demanding entry. Sans slowly loosened his jaw to open, her breaths were hard and hot against his tongue. 

Without warning, Toriel grabbed the collar of his thin shirt, and ripped it right off his body, the sounds of the seams tearing apart caused Sans to shut his eyes in excited arousal. His destroyed shirt joined his abandoned hoodie on the carpet next to her bedside.

Only his sweatpants and his socks remained on his body, but the fabric clung to his bones from his sticky sweat. 

Sans brought up his hand and gripped at the fur along her arm when she leaned down to catch his tongue between her fangs. He drooled out his wet breaths in her mouth, his tongue curling on the roof of her mouth whenever he could, trying to catch his tongue with hers, drinking up her kisses in sloppy drawls that made him whimper. Her tongue attacked his with savagery, and she broke their mouths apart to suckle on his chin and lick her way down his sternum, leaving trails of slobber down her path. Within that trail is red, blood-like magic; her fangs had sliced through the conjured flesh of his tongue, leaving the appendage open with cuts to sting from his sharp intakes of air through his mouth. 

“mmmm-haaa, oh, f-fuck,” Sans sucked in wet gasp of air, “aaahhaa, s-so good, tori.”

Her curious tongue explored every inch of his exposed bones, burning his body with pent-up kisses that were hot and grueling with passion, and it made his bones rattle.  
Sans could not contain the escalating pitch of his whimpering sighs and moans, and he scrambled to clutch onto the horns on Toriel’s head for purchase when she licked dangerously close to his pelvis, her tongue teasing and wriggling along the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“gah-ha-mmmm, p-please tori, p-pplease.” Sans hips rolled up to meet her sapping tongue, but Toriel could only chuckle zealously. 

Toriel slowly stopped her suckling ministrations and pressed a finger to his teeth. 

“Shhh, hush now Sans, we wouldn’t want to wake Frisk or your brother in the other room now, would we?” She giggled softly, mischievously. 

Sans shot a quick glance over her shoulder at her bedroom door; Toriel left it open a crack in case of an emergency, but now Sans had wished she locked the door. All the alcohol was making him lose his sense of control and he could not restrain his mewls. 

Toriel gripped the bottom of her polo shirt and pulled it up over her head, letting it fall to floor with a soft thump, displaying the nakedness of her plump belly, but her breasts were clad by her bra. 

Oh shit, this was getting real wasn’t it? 

Sans cheekbones glowed, sweat rolled down from his skull, and his eye lights swept across her body. 

Yep, this was really happening. Shit. 

Sans gulped in anticipation, and at this point his arousal was evident, magic changing shape at his pubic symphysis, laid bare in his pants, hard and throbbing. 

Toriel rocked over his smaller form so she could reel her body over his, and her slick-sweat fur bristled against his bones, wracking him into shudders. 

She stared so longingly, so intently, so concentrated, so… 

“heh, heh, hey tori, ya know what?”

Toriel did a double-take, “Do I know… what, Sans?” 

“in wine years, you’re extra fine.”

Toriel burst into hearty laughter causing Sans to tiredly snort at her. 

In a split interruption of humor, Toriel thrusted a thigh in between his legs, and Sans eye lights rolled up in pleasure. 

One thrust was all it took, one thrust and his mind jumbled in a mess. 

“shit, tori, can’t ya take a joke?” 

“Quiet now, Sans, or do you want me to stop?” 

Sans licked at the saliva at the corner of his jaw to keep from crying out at the faint, but teasing grinds, and he thrusts his hips tiredly to meet up at the strong flesh of her thigh still clothed by her jeans and his sweatpants, “h-hell no.”

“Ok then.”

Up and down, up and down, Sans’ sweaty back grated on her mattress as she grinded his cock against her jeans. The pressure of her magic and the swelter in the air had his head spinning like a merry-go-round. Sans’ phalanges raked down her arms on each side of him, he buried his face in her furry bust to shield himself from calling out her name, but his breaths ran ragged, huffing through her fur. 

Sans never wanted to touch himself so badly before, but Toriel countered his pathetic thrusting with vigor, rocking the bed frame against the wall, pace going out of control in her drunken state, their breaths losing themselves in harsh, desperate hyper ventilations. 

The alcohol buzzed and heightened his pleasure, and he lost himself to the fuzzy feeling. The fabric felt good gliding rough against his cock, and Toriel’s magic oozed with the intention to make him feel good. 

So he felt _really_ good. 

She grabbed both of his femurs in each of her paws to push his pubis closer and harder against her thigh, and Sans gripped the sheets above his cranium to find leverage, toes curling in his socks. His sweatpants were stifling the heat between his cock and her thigh, the material strangling his erection in a confined prison. 

“ooh fuck, oh-oh, shit, please don’t stop tori, ppplease don’t stoppp,” Precum dribbled down his cock, staining the front of his sweats as the humping made him more and more sensitive. 

“It is alright, Sans,” She cooed, “you are doing so well, so very good.” 

His tears were blinding him and his desperate sobs escalated in volume, but he did not care, he was lost to the sensations of her body and her magic.  
The heat, friction, grinding, the practical dry fucking, had his knees shaking. His orgasm was imminent, bubbled and ready despite the fact she hadn’t even touched him down there yet. He could feel it impending, white hot, sharp, and surging down his spine. 

“You are doing so good, my little one.”

“aaaahh, haaaa, mmmm, gah, t-tori, w-wait, i’m gonna, i’m gonna…” Sans mouth widened in a silent scream, and the dam broke. 

Cum leaked from his conjured cock, blotching his sweatpants and the fabric of Toriel’s jeans with magical release. Toriel let out a dissatisfied huff, “My, my, Sans, did I give you permission to do that?”

Sans was still in her arms, except for the occasional twitch of his hip bones, eye lights burnt out. At the finale, his head spun from the alcohol and the pleasure, and he promptly passed out from his orgasm. 

Toriel tsked and grumbled low in her throat, “You have such low stamina, but I suppose I will let you rest.” 

Sans softly snored in reply, and Toriel loosened up her expression into a half-smile. She pulled Sans to her side, flush against her fur, and placed a chaste kiss on the top of his skull.  
__________________________________  
It was known that Frisk was a heavy sleeper, they looked almost angelic with the duvet cover pulled up taut underneath their chin.

The blanket between Papyrus’ phalanges was nearly ripped to shreds by his claws.

Papyrus was always a light sleeper.

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly self-indulgent, so don't take it too seriously. I also want to thank the lovely 0netype for their encouragement.  
> 


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